


adoration

by orphan_account



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Short & Sweet, and maybe rating too hurr hurr, literal garbage, will update tags as warnings apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Basically, I'm taking prompts from trash-by-vouge's tumblr post on different ways to say "I love you." I'll take requests for prompts, but I'll only do each one once! And if I get no requests, I'll just randomly generate a number.Cue fluff, angst, and all the beautiful in-betweens.





	1. 30. too quick, mumbled into your scarf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First prompt! #30: "too quick, mumbled into your scarf."
> 
> Here's a disgustingly sweet domestic AU.

“C’mon, kiddo, chop chop! Snow ain’t gonna be here by the time you get done dragging your ass.”

Rhys snorts as he steps through the holes in the snow Jack’s already made, making it easier on his already-cold toes. Even bundled up like an Eskimo, with a warm hat on his head, scarf wrapped snug around his neck, hands in the best gloves Jack could buy, he’s  _ freezing _ . “It  _ will _ , actually,” he grumbles in that good-natured way of his that always plays right into Jack’s game. “It’s the middle of December, Jack. Snow’s not going anywhere.”

Jack shoots a  _ look _ over his shoulder, and Rhys snorts again because with the bright yellow scarf and snowflakes dotting in the older man’s eyelashes and hair, he’s anything  _ but _ intimidating. Or maybe that’s just because Rhys knows Jack’s  _ looks _ by now, and this one is just mild annoyance.

He would love to be back in the house, curled up by the fire, legs tossed over Jack’s lap with hot cocoa and chocolate-y kisses, but  _ apparently _ Jack took it as a personal offense when the younger had mentioned never building a snow fort. So, Rhys had found himself shoved into warm clothes while Jack whisked out the door, letting the icy air right into their warm and cozy house.

Of course, it wasn’t that bad. Snow falls in delicate patterns, drifting down with a sort of softness that only really appears around Christmas time. The piles come up to their knees, though, which is why Rhys  _ didn’t _ want to come out— but “They’re perfect for what we need, now get your cute ass out there.”

“Perfect!” Jack plants his hands on his hips, trying to look larger than life even though he’s at risk of drowning in snow. After a bit of stumbling through the spaced footsteps, Rhys arrives at the completely unremarkable patch of snow among the rest of the unremarkable patches of snow, breath puffing out in fogs.

“What’s perfect?” he asks, with all the innocence of a man who’s never made a snow fort.

Jack digs his hands into the snow, and Rhys has to wince when he realizes the man’s gloves are significantly less thick than his own, which means his fingers are  _ soaked _ now. “It’s packed here, so it will stick together. None of that flimsy just-fallen shit. It’s just like finding snow for snowballs.”

“Right, snowballs,” Rhys echoes, burying his face into his scarf until his bright red nose peeks out over the top. “Listen, can we just go inside? I’m about to lose my other arm, here—”

“Nope!” Jack pops the ‘p’ like he always does when he has a point to prove. “You’ve got an unpopped snow fort cherry, and  _ I’m _ about to get all up in there.” He pauses, taking in Rhys and his slightly shivering form, and amends, “We’ll just get a little done, then I’ll treat you to something warm, alright babe?” He waggles his eyebrows, and it isn’t hard for Rhys to put the innuendo together. Even if it sucks.

The younger man snickers behind his scarf. “You won’t be treating me to  _ anything _ if you turn into Jack Frost.”

“Cold, babe.” A tense, heavy pause.  _ “HAH! _ Cold! Geddit, geddit? Tell me you got it—”

Rhys laughs and mumbles  _ something _ into his scarf, but it’s definitely not what Jack asked for.

“Uh, what was that?”

Rhys can feel his ears burn, and he’s glad they’re covered by his bulky hat. “I got it, Jack.”

“No, no no no, that’s not what  _ I _ heard, and I may be old, but I’m definitely not losing my hearing yet.” There’s a weird puzzled look on Jack’s face. “I’m  _ pre-tty _ sure I just heard the  _ L-word.” _ The last sentiment is hushed, eyebrows drawn high up on his forehead, and Rhys can’t help but laugh again.

Jack beams. “Did I get it right, did I?”

Blue and brown eyes roll, but there’s still a smile beneath them.  _ “Yes, _ you got me. I love you, Jack.”

“Love you too, dum-dum.”

Then there’s the thud of snow against a coat, an indignant squawk, and then a booming laugh accompanying the crunch of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt requests are open, but keep 'em Rhack, please! The post is [ http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you ] so be sure to give them a little love, yeah?


	2. 33. on a post-it note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #33: "On a post-it note."
> 
> Rhys as Jack's PA, that classic AU.

Hyperion is  _ swamped _ in idiots. Or— that’s what Jack says, when he has to pick up the pieces of yet another shattered project or report or whatever the fuck else he has to sign. He grumbles about it hourly now, whenever Rhys is near enough for him to grumble. Sometimes they’re both off running on their own errands, getting ready for the end of the year, ending it  _ strong _ like they have to.

They just don’t like it, is all. Rhys, for one, is sick of the dark eyebags and the grumpy man sharing his bed. Jack’s veins are full on more coffee than blood at this point, and he doesn’t know how much more he can consume before he starts melting into his own personal espresso.

Still, they make it work. There’s always a pile of papers on Jack’s desk when he walks in, simple paperclip in place, along with a single post-it note.

The first notes were basics. Schedule, reminders, destinations for said papers, but after day three of the hell, Rhys had just started writing random bullshit on it, and Jack would always respond with his own post-it stuck to the other’s desk. Things like knock knock jokes (that Jack insisted he was better at) and general  _ how was your day? _ ’s come daily, but with the lack of attention Jack has been craving (and Rhys, for a smaller part), there’s also been compliments.

Things like  _ hello handsome _ and  _ you didn’t dress like shit today, babe _ that solidify their status as lovers, even if they can’t really prove it any other way because Jack is  _ never _ in the mood for anything more than a couple kisses before bed now. Rhys blames that on the lack of success in R&D, but he isn’t exactly energetic enough for such activities either, so he can’t complain.

The best day by far is when Rhys color-codes the papers. Colored tabs, highlights on important scripts, everything in order and perfect, just waiting for Jack to do it like a paint-by-numbers, and the older man almost marches out of his office to track down his complete saint of a PA and kiss him senseless.

But he can’t, because there’s something in Marketing he needs to check up on by 9:45, and it’s 9:37 right now.

Rhys still gets a nice little surprise on his desk when he stops in next, though. Neat, slightly slanted letters, hurried but legible.

_ I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post: http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you  
> Hmu with those sweet requests B)


	3. 26. Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #26: Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave
> 
> tfw ur bf keeps going down to that death planet and u know one day he won't come back
> 
> again

It’s said as a last-ditch effort.

Jack turns around, actually startled that Rhys got physical, only to find the other with sunken features, looking like he’s drowning on dry land, looking like he would be  _ okay _ with that right about now.

“I  _ love _ you.”

Green and blue eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he stills with somewhat of a deadly calm. For a moment, Rhys thinks he has him, that he  _ won’t _ go and throw his life away in what’s probably the simplest trap known to man, that he  _ won’t _ go out again just to prove he’s not a coward.

Rhys thinks he’ll stay, that he values Rhys enough to  _ stay _ .

But in the end, those three words just make Jack walk faster when he yanks his arm away and the door slides shut in his wake.

And Rhys sinks to the ground, hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that one was really short but i'm curious to see if those 143 words impacted y'all at all
> 
> i'm mass posting these first four so uh... yeah request i guess
> 
> post: http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you


	4. 27. A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #27: A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips
> 
> domestic wedding au lmao
> 
> in which Jack won't give up his color

“Jack, I am  _ not _ wearing a yellow tux.”

“You sure, cupcake? If it can’t be helped, I could always fit you into the dress, instead—”

_ “No _ , Jack.” Rhys rubs at his face as he tips his head back, exasperated, but a smile still tugs at his lips, which he covers with a stubborn hand. Hours of planning, arguing, and he will  _ not _ let Jack win this battle over his damn eyewatering shade of yellow. For anything more muted, fine. Pastel? Sure. Whatever.

But no, he wants  _ Hyperion _ yellow. Does he realize how  _ atrocious _ that would look?

(Apparently not, but Rhys still asks the question in the hopes that Jack’s just messing with him.)

“C’mon, give me something here!” Jack throws up his hands, scoffing with all the put-on drama of a high school theatre student, and he  _ knows it. _ “I gave in to your spindly flower choice, after all.”

“Myrtle isn’t that bad,” Rhys replies smoothly. It has meaning, after all—  _ true love. _ He had thought it was a nice sentiment, a little secret tucked in among the other flowers they chose for the arrangements. There’s no way he’ll tell  _ Jack _ what it means, though, if only to save himself from the endless nights of teasing. “Besides, you liked it, too.”

“Hush, babe.” Jack puts a finger to his own lips. “I’m negotiating.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “You can’t win this one, Jack. Not even your charisma will sway me.”

“How about a blowjob?”   


There’s a surprised snort, and Rhys can’t even bring himself to glare as he laughs.  _ “No, Jack!” _

Silence befalls them, and Rhys crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair and avoiding looking at his fiancé because he knows he’ll be greeted with puppy eyes and a big fat pout. To think,  _ this _ is the man who strikes fear into the hearts of his employees. Sitting here, almost begging at Rhys’s feet.

The power in that statement fills Rhys with affection, and he can’t help glancing at his definitely-pouting betrothed. Their eyes hold for a single moment of a silent battle of will, before Rhys groans and buries his head in his hands.

“Fine. But  _ only _ yellow ties.”

Jack’s victorious whoop makes him grin, but he keeps his head in his hands, playing up the angst.

“Hey, Rhys.”

Nope.

“Rhys. Baby.”

No.

“Pumpkin? Light of my life?”

Rhys sighs and props his chin on his hands, meeting Jack’s raised brow, his stupidly brilliant grin, his idiotic eyes that he always gets lost in. “What?”

“I love you,” the older man singsongs.

Rhys lets out another dramatic sigh, but it doesn’t take long for him to return the sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post: http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you
> 
> Okay now that the first four are posted I can legitimately ask for requests!
> 
> Either way, I'm gonna be doing number generators to get all these out. My goal is all of 'em B)


	5. 28. When I am dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #28: When I am dead
> 
> You didn't think I'd go back to angst that quickly, did you? (but if y'all want me to redo it on the angst route, by all means lemme know in the comments)
> 
> By the way, these are all pretty short because they're self-indulgent snippets. Just something to keep me writing when I'm not working on big projects, yeah?

With pulse thundering in his ears, Rhys ducks behind a short outcropping and slams his back to the sturdy surface, gun clutched in his hands and breath coming short. This was a bad idea. Bad,  _ bad _ idea. Who agrees to something like this, seriously? And heaven forbid, he had thought it sounded  _ fun _ at first. But now, with the deathly silence around him, everything is a bad, bad,  _ bad _ idea.

The vest around his chest is way too tight, and for a split second he wonders if his death will be because of suffocation and not, y’know,  _ getting shot. _ What a dumb way to go.

Rhys closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in the nose, out through the mouth, just like Jack used to tell him. Where even  _ is _ he? Isn’t he supposed to have Rhys’s back during this shitstorm? That’s what boyfriends do, right?

Are they boyfriends? God. Too many questions.

He hears footsteps, rushed and approaching, so he braces himself and swings out of his cover, gun poised and ready to take the shot— 

Only someone beats him to it.

His vest flashes bright blue with a piercing noise, and Rhys makes a sound that is definitely  _ not _ a screech as he falls to the ground in a way that’s definitely full of dignity and not pathetic and wimpy. It was the shock, alright? He was  _ shocked _ . He didn’t know it would make that noise!

He hears laughing, and he whips his head to glare at his murderer, only to have his jaw drop and eyebrows shoot up in shock.

“Bro,  _ really?” _

Vaughn cackles, holding his stomach. “Your  _ face!” _

“Not cool,  _ not cool!” _ Rhys makes what he hopes sounds like a death rattle and slumps to the ground, making sure to twitch a bit for good measure. There goes his last life in this damn game.

Vaughn keeps laughing, unaware as something comes up behind him in what can only be described as a  _ loom. _

And his vest flashes bright green with its own noise, and he yelps, jumping forward. When he turns, he sees the guy he wants to  _ avoid _ in this laser tag outing right there, grinning and blowing metaphorical smoke from the barrel of his fake gun.

Vaughn, being the life-loving guy he is, skedaddles.

Jack steps over to Rhys, brows furrowed and mouth pursed in a frown as he eyes over the lanky guy sprawled out beneath him. “Really, pumpkin? Didn’t think you were one for theatrics.”

“Shhh,” Rhys says, pushing a finger to his boss’s lips. “I’m  _ dead.” _

“Yeah, and I’m an ugly motherfucker.” Jack scoffs and takes Rhys’s wrist in a firm grip, pulling the offending finger away from his face. “What, do you need a kiss? Is that what you want?”

“That won’t work, I’m  _ dead,” _ Rhys insists. “Now go kick ass for me.” He coughs, for good measure, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

Let it be known that Rhys never got into drama club.

The older man rolls his eyes. “As if I wasn’t  _ already _ doing that.” He leans down, leaves a small peck on Rhys’s head that makes the other smile despite his act, then goes to stand.

“Rhys, I love you, but I’m not carrying you to the holding pin.”

“You. Asses. Kicking.” Rhys points in the vague direction Vaughn ran. “Now.”

“Needy, huh?”

“Only when I’m dead.”

“Okay, okay, alright— I’ll see you after this, alright? Then we can play doctor/patient.”  _ No one _ needs to look at Jack to know he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

_ “Go.” _

As Jack goes off on his own adventure in laser-tagging, Rhys grins to himself and sits up.  _ Love you too, jackass. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post: http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you
> 
> i have a tumblr, by the way!!! @thiefofthecosmos
> 
> come keep me company maybe?? and i'm thinking of doing some fic commissions, so... i'd love to hear thoughts on that


	6. 7. As a thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #7: As a thank you
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for all the kudos and comments I've gotten from the people on this site! (Hopefully these daily snippets pay y'all back)

Hell’s raining down on the encampment.

Should he have expected this? Yes. Should he have better prepared? Absolutely. Should he have brought  _ Rhys,  _ of all people, into this? Hell to the  _ fuck _ no. But, you live and learn, that’s what he always tells himself— there’s probably a poster like that, hanging up in someone’s office.  _ Live and learn, kiddos! _ To do: check and see if that’s a thing, and if not,  _ make _ it a thing.

The thing about living and learning, though, is that you  _ really _ have to nail the first part in order to get anywhere close to the second. And that’s a problem, considering there’s a hail of bullets coming against this damn wall. Jack cuts a glance over at Rhys, who’s cowering behind a stack of rubble like it’s his job. No, bringing him along was a stupid-ass decision.

Live and learn.

_ “FRY YOU LIKE RAKK WINGS!” _

God, where do these guys get their lines? Do they just arrange random shit with fridge magnets, or…? Jack sighs, leans around to get a few shots in, before looking back at Rhys and making a head movement that hopefully signals  _ go on ahead. _

Then something wraps around his neck.

_ “CHOKE ON A MOTORCYCLE!” _

Yup, that’s a little idiot hanging off his back. Jack wants to scold him, tell him this isn’t  _ choking, _ this is  _ strangling, _ but he kinda can’t breathe, so he focuses on smashing his back against the wall, hoping to dislodge the little terror.

The fucker’s strong and wiry, though, and he sticks on like a grade-A grenade. Jack growls, throws an elbow, but that doesn’t deter him, either.

No, he’s  _ not _ about to die to this asshole.

There’s a shrill war-cry, and the bandit screeches in pain, leaping or falling off, Jack can’t tell which. What he  _ can _ tell, though, is that Rhys is there, that damn baton of his out and ready, glaring at the smoldering pest, who’s out cold.

Jack turns and kicks the body for good measure before whirling back around to grab Rhys’s shoulders and plant a firm peck right on the lips, like the great guy he is.

_ “God, _ I love you, babe. Keep it up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post: http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you
> 
> tumblr: thiefofthecosmos
> 
> some day i'll bother to actually link these things. today is not that day.


End file.
